by Hayes, Lane
“You need food. Are you allergic to anything? If so, speak up now. I’m an amazing but terribly temperamental chef. Gordon Ramsey has nothing on me. I’ll be crushed if you don’t praise me.”
“Uh…”
“Allergies or no?” he prodded impatiently.
“No allergies.”
“Lovely. It was a pleasure meeting you, Nick. Enjoy your evening. I’ll have a sandwich sent over posthaste,” Geordie announced as he sashayed toward the doorway like an actor making a dramatic exit…stage left.
I stared after the retreating vision in black velvet. He should have looked cartoonish in his velvet and silk ensemble, but he didn’t. His regal carriage and cool gaze hinted at hard-won pride and a low tolerance for bullshit. I turned back to Wes who seemed to be waiting for my reaction and poised to act accordingly. My forehead creased. I was suddenly more fascinated than frustrated. The combination was a tad dangerous for someone born with a faulty filter.
“I can’t tell if he was mad about my broken engagement or happy to have a reason to make a sandwich.”
He shook his head. “That’s just Geordie. He’s a hopeless romantic.”
“He sounded pissed. Not romantic.” Not that I was an expert on romance.
“Geordie’s a realist. Sometimes things don’t work out. Including engagements. No one knows how to roll with the punches like a gay man from the wrong side of town. He’d be the last to suggest life was supposed to go a certain way. Things change,” Wes said with a shrug. “His problem is, he thinks in extremes. He’s always planning a wedding or funeral for everyone he meets.”
“Are you together? Like boyfriends? Husbands?”
“Does it matter?” he asked in a low voice.
“No. I’m just curious. I didn’t think you were gay, but—”
“I am.”
“Oh.” My mouth was stuck in the shape of an “O” for a long moment before I finally shut it. “Cool. I’m…so how long have you two been together?”
“We aren’t together. We’re friends. That’s all.”
There was a feral edge to Wes’s intense gaze that made my stomach drop. I didn’t get him. He hadn’t been pleased to see me when I showed up at the winery a second time looking like I’d bathed in a vat of Pinot, but he’d invited me into his house and given me dry clothes anyway. Now he was staring me down, daring me to say or do something stupid, so he’d have an excuse to toss my ass back out again.
He moved toward the built-in bar and chose a bottle of red wine from a glass shelf then uncorked the bottle and poured a trace amount of the burgundy liquid into a wineglass. He swirled it expertly so that no portion of the glass was untouched.
“Why do you do that? Is that a necessary wine thing, or is it for show?”
Wes glanced up with a frown. “Weren’t you going to change?”
The not-so-subtle dismissal was laced with a challenge. Maybe he didn’t like to be questioned. Or maybe he remembered he didn’t actually like me and that it might be best to downgrade the hospitality before I got any crazy ideas about us being new buddies. I wasn’t prone to overanalyzing any interpersonal interaction. Analysis was reserved for the lab where science and math reigned, and solutions were black and white. Everything else in life was fluid. No one could be certain to get the right answer in a gray world; you had to wing it. My instincts were socially iffy—I was wrong more often than I was correct. But I’d learned to own my geeky, inappropriate side and issue apologies later if needed. It was better than watching from the sidelines.
I kept my eyes locked on his and stepped away from the fire. Then I yanked my sweater over my head and began the arduous chore of unbuttoning my oxford shirt one tiny button at a time. I slipped my ruined shirt over my shoulders and opened my mouth to say who knows what, but I lost my train of thought when Wes moved toward me, carrying the bottle and two wineglasses. He set everything on the coffee table and then held his hand out. I glanced down at the navy T-shirt he held and chuckled.
“Are you gonna help me get dressed?”
My voice sounded lower than normal. I was going for mildly flirtatious and ended up sounding inappropriate. It wasn’t the sort of thing that bothered me usually, but there was something vaguely intimidating about this guy.
“If you need assistance, I’m happy to lend a hand,” he countered with a wry grin.
My blush was instantaneous. I felt exposed and maybe even a little childish but still turned on. My dick swelled in my khakis and though he wasn’t looking at my crotch, I had a strong feeling he knew where my dirty mind had gone. His intense expression didn’t help. He didn’t blink. Or smile. He simply held my gaze until I grabbed the shirt from him and yanked it over my head like a petulant teenager.
Wes chuckled softly and then bent to pour the wine. I rested my fingers on my belt and studied his profile. The silver highlights at his temple glinted in the firelight. The contrast of color gave him an appealing, distinguished look. I didn’t care how old he was. Wes Conrad was hot. And gay.
Not that I was interested, of course. It was just an observation.
I unbuckled and unzipped my pants in a sort of daze while I tried to recall if I’d met him when I was here with Lisa last year. I doubted it. I wouldn’t have forgotten Wes.
I remembered the winery had been crowded that day. It had been one of those impossibly beautiful autumn days where colors looked more brilliant than usual. Or maybe it was the wine. Conrad Winery was our third stop that day and by the time we’d made our way to the bar in the wine-tasting room, I was already buzzed. We weren’t going to tour the vineyard, but the boisterous guide gathering his group was a bit of a showman. Lisa seemed to know him through her father. I hadn’t questioned how the Carrigans knew the older, heavy-set gentleman with a ruddy complexion and a contagious laugh. They knew everyone. It hardly mattered now. That guy was a great salesman, I mused with a reluctant huff as I lowered my khakis over my ass. I’d dropped well over a thousand bucks that afternoon.
Wes’s well-timed cough pulled me back to the present. “I appreciate the striptease act, but Geordie will make you wish you’d shown a little restraint should he walk in on a naked man in the living room.”
I may have blushed the first time I got caught acting like a fool, but my detour through what my friends called my “absentminded-professor haze” provided a screen of sorts. I hadn’t meant to take off my pants in front of him but now that I had, I figured I should own it. I toed off my wet loafers and pushed my khakis and briefs down in one brisk motion. Then I grabbed the gray sweatpants and made a small production of unfolding them with one hand so I didn’t detract from his view. And with one last shit-eating grin, I stepped into the right leg and then the left and immediately lost my balance. I tripped over my feet and fell flat on my naked ass in an undignified heap.
Wes’s hearty laughter floated pleasantly somewhere above me. Then next to me.
“Let me help you, Nicky,” he said in a low tone that sounded like pure sex.
He pulled me to a kneeling position and slid his hands over my bare ass then grabbed the elastic and yanked the sweats up. His touch was deliberate and sensual, but his expression was guarded. And then it wasn’t. He flashed a roguish grin at me before stepping aside. I shivered in spite of the fact I was next to the fire and swallowed hard. I’d purposely provoked him and found out I might just be in over my head. I gathered what was left of my dignity and staggered to my feet.
“Um…thanks. I think.”
He nodded in acknowledgment and held my gaze for a long moment. He looked like he was about to speak when someone cleared their throat from the doorway.
“Sir? Geordie asked me to deliver this plate for your guest.” The young woman who’d greeted me twice already that day moved into the room and set a tray onto the coffee table. She smiled sweetly before hurrying back to the doorway.
“Thank you, Lauren. Where’s Geordie?” Wes asked.
“He’s in the tasting room. I’m going back to h
elp him with the event. I’ll lock up behind me. Enjoy.”
I thanked her then sat on the sofa and perused the meal she’d brought: a massive turkey sandwich on a fresh baguette with a side of mixed berries.
“Eat up. You must be hungry.”
I lifted the turkey sandwich from the plate and took a giant bite. “It’s delicious.”
“Geordie’s a great cook, and he makes a mean sandwich.”
“Is he coming back?”
“I doubt it. Looks like it’s just you and me, Nicky.”
I narrowed my eyes and observed him over the rim of my wineglass. I didn’t trust the subtle shift in his mood. Was he flirting or playing with me? I wasn’t sure what to think of either scenario. Sure, Wes Conrad was a sexy man. I’d do him in a heartbeat. But I had serious doubts he was looking for a good time with no strings.
There was a bigger story here than the vintner who lived with his flamboyant friend in the heart of wine country. He was a shark. Yeah, that sounded a tad paranoid, but my gut told me this guy was a savage competitor with a background in something a hell of a lot more interesting than grapes.
I popped a stray piece of turkey into my mouth then swirled the burgundy liquid in my glass leisurely.
“How long have you and Geordie known each other?”
“Ten years.”
“Hmm.”
“Why the hesitation? I can tell you have more questions.”
“Hey, it’s not my business how old you are or how old your friend is or if you’ve ever been more than friends.”
Wes let out an amused huff. “I’m forty-five, Geordie’s forty and no…we’ve never been anything more than friends. In a way, we’re stuck with each other. It’s a good thing I like him.”
“I know the feeling. I’m in business with my best friend too. We own a security network firm.”
“Yes, I know. EN Tech.”
“How did you know that?”
Wes rolled his eyes. “I made it my business to find out a couple of things about you after you started harassing us about your order. Of course, we also had to return those cases at least six times to your off—”
“Four. Not six,” I corrected irritably before thinking it might be best to change the topic. “When did you get into the wine business?”
To Wes’s credit, he didn’t blink at my abrupt segue. “Nine years ago. I was in your field before that, but I was already contemplating a career change when this place came on the market. The previous owner took a big hit in the recession and never recovered. It was a shame. The acreage was prime real estate with mature vines, but if you can’t pay your employees, you can’t make wine.”
“Makes sense, but don’t you have to go to school for this stuff? Did you grow up on a farm or something?”
Wes shook his head then paused to sip his wine before responding. “No. I bought the business with a friend who already knew a thing or two about viticulture. I dealt with the finance and Mike handled the grapes. The rest is history.”
“What about Geordie?”
“He was on board with Mike and me from the beginning. Initially, he wanted to design the labels and help with interiors only, but he took on more when we needed him to. We grew faster than we thought we would. Geordie takes care of the tasting room and special events. I oversee distribution and finance. And…Margaret took over for Mike. Well, with grapes only. Mike used to help with tours. He loved to show off the grapes and tell stories about the harvest season.”
“What happened to Mike?”
Wes drained his glass and put it on the coffee table before answering softly. “He died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” So much for light conversation, I mused.
“Me too.”
“Was he a big guy? Tall, gray hair, a little heavyset?”
Wes gave a sad smile and nodded. “Yes.”
I cocked my head thoughtfully. “I met him when I was here last year. I’m pretty sure he was the one who did the tour and—he’s the reason I proposed that day.”
Wes scoffed and rolled his eyes before leaning forward to pour more wine into our glasses. “Is this another attempt at reimbursement for your impulse buy?”
I ignored his dig as I conjured a memory of his friend. “He was funny. He told some story about likening the lifespan of a vine to a perfect love song. It was pure schmaltz, but Lisa ate it the fuck up and…bam! Next thing I know I’m on my knees later that day making one of the worst decisions of my life.”
“So you are blaming your crappy decision-making on a dead man.”
“No, I’m just telling you what happened. He was subtly persuasive. He knew Lisa and I were dating and he might have asked if we had plans to get married, but the rest was me being spontaneous.”
“Crazy things happen in the heat of the moment.”
I blinked at the lazy sensuality in that one sentence. It felt like a challenge, though I couldn’t say why. His posture and overall demeanor hadn’t changed. It was highly unlikely he was flirting with me or sizing me up. He thought I was straight. Didn’t he?
“Why’d you change your mind?” he asked.
“Uh.”
“Come on. There must be a juicy story here. If my winery is somehow related to your near disaster, I think I should know the inside scoop. What happened? Did she cheat? Did you? Did you disagree about religion, politics or how to raise your kids? Did you hate each other’s families or friends?”
I frowned. “No. I just…didn’t love her.”
Wes stood with a grunt before heading back to the bar. He chose another bottle of red from his collection and uncorked it. “Then what made you ask her in the first place? Don’t tell me…wine.”
He held up the new bottle like a prize and returned to the living area to refill our glasses again. I stopped him before he’d filled it halfway. I couldn’t afford to get too comfortable. I had things to do tonight.
“The wine definitely didn’t stop me.” I snorted. “But that wasn’t it. I…I liked her. I thought whatever we had would be enough until it became more.”
“It sounds like your proposal was more of a calculated risk than a declaration of love.”
I scowled then let out a deep sigh. “Maybe. It’s worked for me in business. I guess I hoped it would be the same in my personal life. I’m not sorry I ended it, but I wish I could have figured out how to do it without the drama and bad blood.”
“She hates you now, eh?”
“No, but her dad does. He was an investor in my company and—”
“Marrying an investor’s daughter is almost as bad as marrying the boss’s kid. Not very original.”
I bristled at his derisive tone. “Hey! I admit I made a mistake and maybe I should have known better. I suck at relationships. But I rectified it before any lasting damage was done.”
“And returning the wine is part of your absolution process?” The question in his voice was rhetorical only. The look in his eye said he was onto me.
“In a way…yes,” I grumbled, hating how stupid that sounded. “I’m superstitious.”
“You don’t say,” he teased.
I cast a haughty sideways glance at him before I attempted to explain my reasoning. “Everything in life is connected. We’re united by shared molecular composition if not ideals. We are in the universe and of the universe. It’s basic physics. Our very being creates patterns of cause and effect. Every action has a consequent reaction. To ignore obvious cosmic signs is unwise.”
“Sounds like you’re mixing astronomy with astrology.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll go one step further and suggest this applies to every facet of life. Look…I own half of a network security firm. Most people have no idea what that means, nor do they care. They just want to know which button to push so no one compromises their private information. They don’t care about the intricate language behind the code. They just want it to work. That’s fine by me. It’s what I do best. If I could stay in a lab twenty-four-seven, I would. I’
m better with numbers and ideas than people any day of the week. But I can’t. I have to see what’s out there. I have to know that my ideas have been applied correctly and then I have to figure out what comes next. One discovery might lead to a hundred more. Or a thousand. It’s science.”
Wes gave me an incredulous look. “Okay, but what does any of that have to do with you trying to return my wine?”
“It was bad karma. Go ahead and laugh, but today alone…the rain, the accident, my totaled Rover…is proof I was right.”
“I guess you can start over from zero then,” he said sarcastically. “Congratulations.”
I ground my teeth irritably. “Don’t be so quick to judge. You don’t know me.”
Wes leaned in close enough that our knees touched and smiled. The predatory gleam in his eye turned the gesture into a snarl. “No, but I know your type very well.”
“Really? What exactly do you think you know?”
“You, my friend, are an asshole.”
I let out a low humorless chuckle then pitched my tone to match his almost sinister one. “This must be one of those ‘it takes one to know one’ moments.”
His wide grin immediately diffused the heated exchange. Wes burst into laughter. His eyes crinkled in amusement and as his smile widened, a sexy dimple creased his left cheek. Fuck, he was hot. I frowned, hating that I was so aware of him. Sure, he was good-looking, but he was kind of a prick. And frankly, he confused me. He was laid-back and friendly one second then borderline menacing the next. It made sense that he’d once been in my industry. His flashes of wicked cunning would have made an impact in any boardroom. Maybe this was what happened when hard-ass businessmen dropped out of the fast lane to wallow away in the country with a bunch of grape vines. They went nuts.
If I thought our acquaintance would outlast the glass of wine in my hand, I might have asked a few probing questions. But there was no point. It was obviously time to move on. I pulled my phone out and read a message from Barb confirming that a car would be delivered to the address I’d given her within the hour, which by now would be in approximately fifteen minutes. Perfect timing.